


White Coral Bells

by victrevored (kirkisajerk)



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Body Image, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, First Kiss, Happy Ending, Hear that? Actually has a plot!, Kid Sherlock, Kid Victor Trevor, Kidlock, Lonely Sherlock, M/M, May add smut later but we'll see what happens, Mentions of past abuse, No Underage Sex, Not Beta Read, Past Character Death, Past Child Abuse, Plot, Romantic Friendship, Sherlock kind of is lowkey tom sawyer when it comes to wanting to be a pirate, Sick Victor, This sounds crazily sad but it isn't, Trust Issues, but a lil bit later on, but by the end they're all grown up :'), liek if u crie evrytiem, mentions of past death
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-03-09
Updated: 2015-03-09
Packaged: 2018-03-17 04:03:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 764
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3514667
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kirkisajerk/pseuds/victrevored
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Victor Trevor is a sickly, sad little boy that can't seem to find the affection he craves. Sherlock Holmes is a trouble maker that won't stay out of his gardens. The friendship they create during their childhood will shape the two boys for the rest of their lives.</p><p>• This is non-canon compliant story ever so loosely based on The Secret Garden. My goal is that it'll allow members of the Sherlock fandom to find new interest in a rare-pair often mischaracterized. Not all the tags are relevant yet, as this is a WIP.</p>
            </blockquote>





	White Coral Bells

**Author's Note:**

> Hey guys! So this is my first longterm fic, so I'm pretty tentative about posting it... lol. I got the idea during a fantastic roleplay I did, and realized this was a great AU to play with. If you're an avid Johnlock fan, don't worry, there's no John-bashing. In fact, he isn't mentioned. Actually, if you're just getting into Viclock/Victorlock (what is this ship even called?!) I highly encourage you giving this a chance. 
> 
> Any comments would be highly appreciated!

Nearly everyone thought the house had been abandoned.

Only understandable, really. A house of that stature must have been hard to upkeep. The white paint that once glowed like the north star would only peel and yellow, the grand oak trees that surrounded the estate and speckled the hillside would only loose their leaves. Wilkes had called it a haunted house. He insisted one day that it had to be true, that "if you squint your eyes and stand on your left foot, you can see the silhouettes of ghosts peaking from the windows!". When a group of neighborhood boys had tried it and only resulted in missing their curfews, that theory was put to rest. 

Naturally, Sherlock Holmes knew it was preposterous to begin with. 

"How would the way you stand affect the appearance of ghosts? I would expect better of your obviously flawed excuse for a mind. But, then again, you  _did_  repeat the second grade." The nine-year-old snorted. He was sitting on the top of the monkey bars in the school playground, legs swinging as he gave a smug roll of the eyes. Idiots.

This was the day that Sherlock learned never to pour salt on fresh wounds-- or more literally, the wood chips that covered the ground under the monkey bars. Because, as soon as Wilkes processed the insult, he threw a handful of them right at Sherlock's head. More shocked than injured, the boy fell straight backwards, landing on his back and producing cuts that wouldn't heal for a straight weak. Wilkes was given a detention; Sherlock had lost his passion for climbing on the jungle gym. 

The "haunted" house didn't come back into conversation for at least four months. If Sherlock could remember it correctly, it was not until the eve of his tenth birthday that someone had mentioned the symbol of dying wealth that had stationed it's grave on Hyde's Hill. 

"They're cleaning it up, rumor tells." Mrs. Holmes commented lightly. She and Sherlock were working on the birthday cake; the Holmes' family was never one for surprises. "A new family is moving in. The house was owned by their great-great grandfather, back before there were..." Sherlock always hated it when his mother went on like that. It was boring. Why on earth did she think he would care about neighborhood gossip? Besides, she had just cracked one to many eggs in the cake mix; there were far more important things to talk about. However, one sentence peaked little Sherlock's attention;

"I heard they have a son your age."

By this point, every child in Sherlock's school hated him. And the children that did not hate him were advised to never speak to him (by their parents, most likely). A new child would mean.... No. No, Sherlock had learned the price of trying to make friends. It was a silly, stupid business. Even Mycroft advised against the practice. Because, as he put it, alone can protect you. Sherlock was half tempted to let the words roll off his lips, just to make sure they were right. Being alone would alone him to focus on his studies, experiments, or games. You can't really have a successful time catching bees with some half-wit running around with you? And could you possibly play pirates effectively with someone other than an imaginary friend? Of course not. Things were best as they were. 

But, for some reason, Sherlock went to bed that night dreaming about that mysterious house on the hill.

 

* * *

 

 

_Beauty is in chaos. The juxtaposition of vines against brick and railing was enticing, and the beds of marigolds littered with daisies looked soft enough to sit on. There were fountains at the end of each path, sculptures hidden in patches of clover. Some areas were so thick with shrubbery and saplings that Sherlock couldn't see the sun._

_It occurred to the boy that he would likely be reprimanded for sneaking in like this, but that was a fleeting thought that flew away as he brushed up against a butterfly bush. Butterflies (monarch butterflies, Sherlock observed), fluttered away in a mass, and Sherlock watched them with a bit of longing. He ought to be able to fly too; it wasn't fair that Peter Pan and Superman were the only ones with the power. Superman wasn't even a top rate superhero, after all._

* * *

 

Sherlock woke up late the next morning. His alarm clock hadn't buzzed, and his mother seemed to have neglected to wake him herself. Knowing that no one would be around till the late afternoon, he drifted back to sleep. 

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoyed! Getting some support would make my day :)
> 
> As you can see, a lot of the tags aren't relevant yet to the fic. This is because it's a ~work in progress~. I promise the next chapter will be longer! I should be updating once a week.


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